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Darcy Lewis crossed one leg over the other, letting her foot jostle on the end of her ankle. She hadn’t been waiting all that long, really -- just a few minutes, but patience had never been one of her strong suits, and her nerves were threatening to get the best of her. Darcy was hyper-aware that the image of self-confidence she usually projected was crumpling a little bit. True, she hadn’t freaked out when Jane joined SHIELD and she’d met Tony Stark, of all people, because she had some bones to pick with him about Stark!Sound -- his company’s latest attempt at overtaking the iPod. She hadn’t broken a sweat meeting Hawkeye. The Black Widow had been a little... disconcerting, to be honest, but she was all about strong women being strong and not subtle about it, and so she’d managed to swallow her discomfort.
But this was a summons from Pepper Potts.
When Forbes wanted to consider the most powerful women in business, Pepper Potts was on the top of the call list. She was a very public silent voice for Stark Industries. Tony was the image of the company, and Pepper was its backbone, or so the many magazine articles Darcy had read over the years had asserted. And now Pepper was the CEO of SI -- coming to the forefront competently in a way few people had expected.
A dapper man in his early twenties opened the large oak doors and gestured at her. “Miss Potts apologizes for the delay. She’s ready to see you now.”
Darcy nodded and stood up, hoping something stupid like Can I please be you when I grow up? wouldn’t somehow escape her lips when she met Pepper for the first time.
As Potts’ assistant ushered her into the spacious office, Darcy caught sight of Pepper. Her first impression was that reports of Potts’ height had not been exaggerated at all. Potts had legs a mile long she accented with spiked heels and a tidy pencil skirt and jacket combination. Darcy fought the urge to self-consciously brush imaginary lint off her pants.
“You’re Darcy Lewis,” Potts said, taking her bluetooth device out of her ear and coming around the table to shake Darcy’s hands.
“And you’re Pepper Potts,” Darcy said, striving for evenness of tone.
“Indeed I am,” Miss Potts agreed, with a smile that said something about that amused her. “Would you like something to drink? I’m afraid I kept you a bit longer than I had intended.”
“That’s totally cool. There’s like... you know, a Degas out there. So I wasn’t, um... bored. Or anything.”
Darcy wasn’t sure exactly which alien lifeform had taken most of her brain function and her ability to speak English, but she couldn’t seem to form completely sentences.
Pepper’s lips quirked. “So, you met Tony the other day.”
Darcy nodded, suddenly feeling unsure of herself. “I did. Dr. Foster took a job with SHIELD, as uh, I’m sure you know, and because of her thing with Thor, they set her up in the tower, and... you’re Pepper Potts. I don’t have to tell you this.”
“It’s okay. I know this has got to be … unexpected.” Pepper crossed the room and sat next to Darcy, all long legs and polished professionalism.
“Yeah... got to tell you, this was not in my ‘Where I expect to be in ten years’ essay for the SAT.” Darcy shrugged. “But, really, most of that was total bullshit. I mean, who knows at eighteen what you want to do with your life? I’m twenty-three and I’ve still got no fu-- I mean, I’m still clueless, you know? So... unexpected’s fine. Unexpected is expected.”
Pepper grinned. “Perfect.” She reached for a folder on the end table next to her and flipped it open. “It seems you’ve made an impression on Mr. Stark.”
Darcy thought back, and tried desperately to remember what she’d said or done that would merit being summoned to the CEO of Stark Industries’ office. To the best of her recollection she hadn’t done anything particularly exciting, just took him to task for the lack of compatibility with open source products in the Stark!Sound prototype...
“Oh. Okay?”
“That’s rare. Tony doesn’t remember a lot of people. He’s not good with names, or faces, mostly that’s what he relies, or used to rely on me for. The point is: he likes you.”
“Oh.”
“What I’m trying to say is: Ms. Lewis, I’d like to offer you a job. As Tony Stark’s personal assistant.”
Darcy tried to work her mouth. She had been able to speak just a few minutes ago. “You do realize my degree in political science, right?”
“My degree is in art history,” Pepper said. “But once upon a time I stood up to Tony Stark. And here I am. Look, I’m not going to tell you to take it, or not to take it. The position requires an ability to herd cats, keep a schedule, keep chaos organized, get out of his way when he needs it, keep him alive, keep him focus, keep him distracted. You won’t get to have a life outside of work. He’s not good with boundaries or social expectations. But he’s becoming a very good man, and he’s a genius. And he wants your help.”
**
“So, what did she want?” Jane asked, giving every impression of actually paying attention to what was going on, but Darcy knew Jane well enough that even over the phone, she could tell that Jane was doing other things.
“She wanted to offer me a job.”
“What?”
Now Jane was paying attention. God love her. Darcy really did love her scientist. Absent-minded, intelligent, driven, but to a fault a little overly-reliant on routine and a touch self-absorbed when working. That was Jane.
“Don’t worry. You’re not in danger of losing your Pop-Tart enabler.”
Jane hmmed. “That’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say that’s great!”
Something in Darcy’s chest fell. “Really? You’re not upset that I’d be leaving you?”
“I never thought this would be a permanent solution, Darcy. Most people don’t stay on as grad assistants for the rest of their lives.”
“Right.”
“Darcy, seriously... you have to know. This is a great opportunity. What’s the job title?”
“Personal assistant. To Tony motherfucking Stark.”
“Is that his actual middle name?”
“Jane!” Darcy took her triple-shot latte from the barrista and found a seat in the Starbucks she’d ran into to ‘think the offer over’ -- i.e., call Jane in a panic. “I’m looking for real, actual solid advice here.”
“I think you should do it. You don’t actually know what you want to be when you grow up --”
“Hey. Now.”
“-- and if nothing else, Tony Stark’s personal assistant is a great resume builder. It says: ‘look at me, I can do anything!’ It’ll give you some time to make some decisions, you know?”
Just then Darcy’s phone began to beep in the most annoying way. “Jane, I’ve got to put you on hold. I’ve got an incoming call.”
“Okay.”
“Darcy Lewis’s phone. Darcy Lewis speaking.”
“What’s the hesitation, Lewis?”
“Stark?”
Sometimes life was one surreal shitstorm after another.
“What’s the hold up? Potts says you needed to think it over. Most people jump at an opportunity like this.”
“Do these people know you?”
“It’ll be fun! You’ll come, hang out with me and Banner in the labs, get us coffee when we need it, run interference for me... and you know, pretty much the rest of the time will be your own.”
“So build a robot. Jesus.”
“I need a person.” Tony’s voice was quiet. “I need someone who’s not afraid of me. I need someone who will draw a hard line. I need someone who has balls of steel. I need someone who has literally tazered a God. That’s in the qualifications section of the job description now.”
“You could have anyone.”
“I could. But I want you. Stop fucking around, Lewis. Take the job.”
And he hung up.
**
It took Darcy a few weeks to get used to the ins and outs of her job. The twenty-four pace, Tony’s tendency to be exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be, and his outrageous expectations based on Pepper Potts’ performance all threatened to overwhelm her the first few days. But, gradually she got a handle on it -- like Jane, he had to be trained to expect what she was willing to give, and like her stint with Jane, she had to learn to give what she could to make Tony’s life easier.
They were just starting to hit their stride when Tony threw a wrench into her comfortable lifestyle.
The day started normally. Or what Darcy had come to realize was normal. Most days she either found Tony asleep, passed out fast first on his workspace, or awake, bustling around his workshop like a maniac, barking orders at robots or Dr. Banner... or sometimes he was nowhere to be found at all, and Darcy learned very early on that if he wasn’t in his lab, he was in his bedroom, and that required a call to Ms. Potts.
“Good morning, Darcy,” Pepper said, her face appearing on Darcy’s phone. “Are you looking for Mr. Stark?”
“Can’t find him down here in the lab.”
“I’ll start the process of waking him up.” She reached for something -- obviously a pillow -- and threw it behind her. “Wake up, Tony!”
“Great,” Darcy said. “You’ve got stuff for me?”
There was a thunk, and then -- “Who’s that on the phone? Is it Lewis? She always calls too fucking early in the morning. Come back to bed, Potts --”
“Tony, a little maturity, a little decorum, stay out of the view of the screen, can’t you see I’m on the phone with --”
Tony shoved his face into Pepper’s screen, but not before Darcy had seen enough to know he was without pants. “It’s Lewis. She’s seen my dong like, eight hundred and forty times --”
“She has not, and I am not going to encourage that either, Tony.”
Tony wrenched the phone away from Pepper triumphantly. “Lewis! Glad you called. Well, not right at that moment, because Potts is looking especially delicious this morning --”
“Thank you.”
“You two have a bizarre relationship,” Darcy muttered under her breath.
“We have a unique relationship, which is founded on mutual respect and the understanding that I am a complete horndog with impulse control issues --”
Pepper shrugged. It was the truth.
“-- and I have got a task for you, Lewis.”
“Okay...”
“In just a few minutes, Natasha Romanov is going to come through that door. She’s going to be your trainer.”
“Excuse me. What the actual fuck?”
“It’s actually standard procedure for someone working at this level with a SHIELD asset,” Pepper assured her. “It’s super-villain methodology 101 to go after people like us. Normals, with no super powers, who for some reason find these guys fun to be around.”
“Exactly,” Tony said. “Pepper may not look like it, but she can take care of herself if she absolutely needs to, and, you know, she’s constantly surrounded by the best security money can buy. At the moment, you won’t be quite as a high a target-risk, but I’m still concerned about you.”
“So you asked Natasha Romanov to teach me how to... what? Key somebody’s eyes out?”
“If that’s what it takes,” the Black Widow said from the doorway, (Darcy hadn’t even heard her, she was a fucking ninja) a smile on her lips. “We’ll focus on giving you the skills to evade capture, or delay it long enough to get a message to one of us. And then we’ll work on what you do when you actually get captured.”
“And at the end, I emerge, what? A slightly-less awesome version of you?”
“No. A slightly-more awesome version of you,” Natasha said, and looked down at Darcy’s (very expensive) heels. “How to run in high-heels is a lesson we’ll put off for another day. There are more appropriate clothes in the gym. We will go there, and you will change, and then we will begin.”
“Okay.”
“Good luck, Lewis!” Tony waved, and Darcy could hear Pepper protesting his takeover of her phone as he ended the call.
“Yeah.” Darcy Lewis squared her shoulders. “Good luck to me.”
**
So Darcy’s days began this way: she shlepped to Stark Tower, where she spent an hour getting her ass kicked by a genetically modified Russian assassin. If she thought of it that way, she could forgive herself more for not making any noticeable progress. If she didn’t think of it that way -- she had nothing kind to say.
Except that Natasha was (she was told) unusually patient with her, going over and over the moves, showing her time and again how to break out of holds, patented and proven self-defense maneuvers that could save her life, and how to turn various random household objects into a weapon if the occasion called for it.
Darcy had managed to block several of Natasha’s punches (through sheer luck and determination) and had risked an offensive move of her own when Natasha got the better of her, used her momentum and (quite literally) flipped her over.
She hit the mat so hard she was surprised she wasn’t seeing animated birds circle around her head.
“Okay, ouch,” she said, blinking.
“Just think how much more that would have hurt without the mat,” Natasha said conversationally, as if she regularly almost induced concussions to civilians.
Actually, given who she was, that probably was the truth.
“You probably don’t, uh -- use a mat when you train.”
“No, but you are not me. And you will never be asked to become me, so do not hold yourself to my standard. Work with what you have, Darcy.” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest as she sank to the floor, content to wait for Darcy to get her bearings.
“That’s a very Russian way to say ‘be yourself.’”
Natasha waved her hand. “No. A Russian way to say that would be that it’s all going to shit, and we’re all going to die anyway, so what’s the fucking point.”
But she said it with a smile, and Darcy laughed.
The door to the gym opened. Darcy didn’t even bother to lift her head, knowing whoever it was, if they didn’t belong here, would swiftly be dealt with.
“Everything okay in here?”
“We’re fine, Cap, just taking a … breather.” Natasha didn’t move from the ground, either, so it must be okay.
And then what she said sunk in for Darcy.
Cap. As in... Captain America. And here she was, knocked senseless, laying on her back in a sports bra.
“God hates me,” she moaned.
“I think Darcy’s done for the day,” Natasha said. “Did you want to use the gym?”
Darcy still hadn’t uncovered her eyes, preferring the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal methodology (if you can’t see it, it can’t see you) when it came to dealing with the present situation.
“It might be a little snug,” the Captain said dryly, “but I imagine we could all use the gym if we wanted to.”
The gym had to be 2000 square ft. On the small side. Darcy’s mouth twitched in amusement and she pushed herself up off the floor.
“I believe she’s trying to spare me some embarrassment.” Getting to her feet took her longer than it should have, and it was only a little bit humiliating that Natasha hovered close, one hand near her, in case she stumbled. “Darcy Lewis. I promise I’m usually a little more... a little less.... you know what. This is actually my usual approximate level of grace and skill.”
“Steve Rogers.” He extended his hand, and it took her a moment to process that he actually wanted to shake hers, sweaty and gross though it may be. “And you should have seen me a few years ago.”
“Well -- it was very nice, if a little humiliating, to meet you like this, but if Natasha’s going to grant me a reprieve --”
“I am.”
“-- then I need to get back to work. Well, shower, and then work. Tony gets a little impatient if I don’t show up with his coffee right when he’s psychically calling for me.”
As Darcy left, she heard Steve asked Natasha if there was any possibility that Stark was working on psychic technology, and stifled a giggle.
**
Steve had gotten used to seeing all kinds of things in the time he’d been living in Stark Tower -- robots that took direction, all-knowing and all-seeing computerized butlers who could answer any query, Russian assassins that looked like pin-up girls, grown-men who liked to hang from ceilings and jump out of air ducts, and giant green “rage monsters” who had private “playgrounds” of stuff to smash in case of emergency. He thought that this strange new world had nothing left to truly rock him to the core.
And then he’d caught the tail end of Natasha flipping Darcy over her shoulder. He’d been impressed by Natasha’s strength, but that wasn’t anything new. What had startled him, once Darcy had stood up, was... her.
He was overwhelmed with her curves -- women like that didn’t seem plentiful in the circles he ran in these days -- they were all beautiful, straight pins these days (except for Natasha, but Steve had always understood she was Off Limits), but not Darcy. The tight clothes she wore for her workout did nothing to hide a figure that was everything Steve had dreamed of in his adolescence.
His mouth went dry and he remembered what it had been like to have an asthma attack -- what it meant to struggle for breath. No one had made him feel quite that way for a very long time. No one since Peggy Carter.
It was so refreshing to feel something other than pain or numbness or awe -- it was good to feel alive in this particular way. Even if the feeling didn’t last it was like -- coffee first thing in the morning, or a cold shower after a summer’s day. Fundamentally good.
**
“Who is Darcy Lewis?” It was bad enough that Steve had found himself with no other alternative but to go to Tony Stark, of all people, for information, but he had to shout over Tony’s music and Tony’s equipment and...
Tony flipped up his welding helmet. “I’m sorry, what?”
“She said she works for you,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling more uncomfortable than he had felt in a long time. And he’d just woken up from a seventy-year nap, so that was saying something.
“She does,” Tony said, and let the helmet fall back over his face. “She’s my personal assistant. My replacement Potts, if you will.”
“You’re sleeping with the actual Potts.”
“Which is why she’s not a fully-functioning replacement Potts. She just replaced the part of Potts that nagged me to eat and showed up in truly fabulous pencil skirts and got me to meetings on time. Although, to be honest, Pepper still does most of that … why do I pay Lewis, JARVIS?”
Jarvis was ready with an answer, of course. “She handles most of the liaisoning for the Avengers initiative, sir. Among other things.”
“So why hadn’t I met her before now?”
Tony shrugged. “It’s not my responsibility to introduce you to the clan, John-Boy.”
Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Tony.”
“The Waltons? No? Really? I guess it’s probably not on SHIELD’s must-watch list. Sort of a footnote, really, in the cultural pantheon of the ‘70s. Charlie’s Angels, though, that’s a must-watch.”
“Tony.”
“Wait. Why are you asking about Lewis?”
Steve shrugged. “We ran into each this morning. She’s... something.”
“Is this what you do when you have a crush, Cap? Jesus, most of us just use Google.”
“Isn’t that creepy?”
Tony shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Steve made a note to ask Bruce if that was creepy or not. Or Natasha. Maybe this one of those things where he’d have to do an informal poll.
“Cap, look. Do you want a little advice?” Before Steve could shake his head to indicate an emphatic no, Tony pressed on. “Ask her out. Grow a pair. Be a man, dammit. You’re from that fucking period, man. You aren’t supposed to be aware of your feelings and all that shit. You like a girl, you ask her to the bop or what the fuck ever, right?”
“I uh... guess you’re right.”
“Do me a favor, though?”
Steve blinked. “Sure?”
“Please let me videotape this. I’ve got to see Lewis’s reaction. Absolutely got to.”
“Captain Rogers, would you like Miss Lewis’s cell phone number?” JARVIS, at least, was helpful.
“Yeah... sure.”
“Sending it to your contacts list, Captain Rogers.”
“Thanks, JARVIS. I appreciate your help.”
“Hey, now!” Tony managed to dredge up a mildly offended look. “I was helpful.”
“Sure, Tony.”
“Name one of your children after me. Go off and procreate.” Tony waved a hand.
Steve shook his head. “I thought I’d, you know, ask her to a show first.”
Tony fired up his welding gun. “Go make beautiful babies, you dog!”
**
She left the tower a little later than usual that day -- she’d found herself moving more slowly than she was used to, her morning’s workout packing more of a punch than it normally did. Tony’d been nice about it -- up to a point. He couldn’t hold back from making as many sarcastic comments as he could think of, but then, Tony didn’t have much in the way of brain-to-mouth control. Darcy didn’t take it personally, and tried to focus on the fact that at least he liked her enough to notice.
Even if she wished he’d just shut up already.
The day had dragged by, Darcy’s daydreams mostly filled with hot tubs full of epsom salts and competent Swiss masseurs named Franz. She avoided dancing as Tony waved her out the door at seven o’clock with instructions to keep her cell phone on, as if she needed a reminder that she was at his beck and call twenty-four hours a day. How Pepper had managed to power through ten years of this, Darcy had no idea, but she was sore, she was tired, she was overworked and...
She was honestly having the best time.
Although she hadn’t asked for it, she was in the physical shape of her life. Her job never bored her, and if it was demanding, she’d never felt more excited to get up in the morning and go to work. She never thought she’d be one of those people that loved their job. Her only complaint was that she was way too tired at the end of the night to go out and enjoy New York. So far she hadn’t seen much of the city other than the three blocks between the tower and her apartment (Tony paid for her housing as part of her contract. He’d offered her a suite in the Tower but she thought a little distance couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. Tony didn’t agree at all. They compromised.).
She was getting used to the quick clip that New Yorkers called a brisk stroll, and when she unlocked her door and stepped inside her apartment, the very first thing she did was take off her bra.
“Thank Christ,” she muttered, flinging it to the far regions of the living room to join the pile of disgraced lingerie that she would pick up on Sunday when she did her laundry. Darcy didn’t have anything against bras, exactly, but finally being free of them was actual, certified, bliss.
She’d just made her way to the kitchen to contemplate making a peanut butter and jelly masterpiece when her phone rang.
“Tony, I swear to God,” Darcy snapped without looking at the caller ID. “Just one minute to fix a goddamn peanut butter sandwich without being hounded, all right?”
“...Miss Lewis?”
Darcy dropped the peanut butter jar -- the natural stuff. It cracked down the side and exploded across the floor. “Jesus.”
“I can call back later, if now’s not a good time...”
“No, no, this is good. This is absolutely... I’m not wrong, right? You’re Captain America, and you’re calling my cell phone.”
“This is weird, I’m sorry, I know....”
Darcy kicked a piece of glass with her foot. “Okay. Let’s try this again. We’ll both stop... freaking out, and start this conversation over. You start.”
“Um... okay.” She could hear him drawing in a deep breath. “Hi, Miss Lew... Darcy. It’s Steve.”
“Hi Steve, it’s good to hear from you,” Darcy said in a carefully measured voice, one that she used when she was playing Darcy Lewis, professional personal assistant to the Tony Stark, just try to get past her will of iron.
“I -- was wondering, uh... Tony says I need to see a movie called Casablanca? And there’s a showing of it at this great old theater in Brooklyn. It’s one that Ja... that I used to go to with a friend and apparently it’s still there? So. You seemed like, I mean... I want to get to know you. Will you come to the movie with me? And maybe, you know... go to dinner?”
“Wait. Like... as a date?”
There was a beat, and then she could hear Steve draw in a shaky breath. “Yes... something like that. Actually, exactly like that. I know you don’t know me... at all, and I know this might seem strange, but.... I’d really like for you to go.”
Darcy thought for a moment. He practically owed her dinner for the broken peanut butter jar.
“Sold, Cap.”
“Steve.” His voice was firm. “Please... just. Call me Steve.”
“Okay, so... Steve -- see you, when?”
“Friday? Around... seven? We’ll go to dinner and then see the show? I can uh -- pick you up?”
“Sounds like a plan, Steve.”
“Thanks, Darcy,” Steve said. “I’ll see you then?”
“Yes.”
Darcy hung up the phone and tried not to scream.
She wasn’t all that successful.
**
“I don’t own a single thing worth wearing.”
Jane didn’t lift an eyebrow, scribbling something madly on her clipboard. “You’ve got some nice alpaca sweaters. I’ve seen them.”
“No. And we’ll discuss your belief that alpaca fur is the height of fashion at a later date.” Darcy flopped down on the chair next to Jane’s. “Caution: I’m about to be a girl.”
“You’re always a girl, Darcy,” Jane said, still not giving her all of her attention.
“Captain America asked me out on a date.”
Jane hmmed. “He’s a nice guy. You should go.”
“No. Jane. Seriously. Pull your head out of your science and look me in the eyes: Captain. America. Asked me out.”
“Wait, what?” Jane sat up straight. “Like -- Thor’s friend?”
“Do you know many other super-serumed, super-buffed, chisel-chinned guys way out of my league around here that go by that title?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “No, I guess I don’t. And I object to the notion that he’s out of your league. Darce, come on. You’re totally hot. If I wasn’t an unusually-straight woman, I’d totally hit that.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said emphatically. “This is what I’m saying. I need your help, Jane. I got the night off from Tony -- well, actually, Pepper, since asking Tony for time off for a date would be at least six kinds of mortifying and I just started looking at my closet and I realized I only have three modes of clothing: super professional, grubby grad student and ho-bag.”
“Darcy!” Jane rolled her eyes.
“What? Is it bad that I’d like to look, you know? Not like a total Ice Queen, but not like a total--”
“Don’t say it.”
“--ho-bag, on my first date with, you know, the first guy who could actually be worth dating who expressed an interest in me. I don’t even think he likes me because he thinks I could get him weed. This is an evolution in my personal life, and I need my best friend, Jane.”
“What do you need me for?”
“I hate to say it.” Darcy leaned across the table and grabbed Jane’s forearm. “Jane Foster, I need you to brave the streets of New York with me. We’re going shopping.”
**
Jane and Darcy’s solo excursion slowly expanded into a full-on girl-fest. First Pepper got wind of it, when Darcy explained why she needed to be out of work at a semi-sane time, and then Natasha found out... mostly because Darcy told her.
And that was how Darcy found herself walking around a Macy’s with a Russian spy, a woman who could probably buy the store without blinking, and a particle physicist who hadn’t spent more than twenty dollars on a pair of jeans since high school.
“So what are we looking for?” Natasha asked, looking more normal than Darcy had ever seen her in a pair of light-wash jeans and a gray t-shirt that was cut to expose most of her shoulders.
Darcy shrugged. “It’s dinner and a movie. So nothing too fancy. But I still want to knock his socks off. The only time he ever actually, you know, saw me, was when I was getting my ass handed to me.”
“But I’m sure you looked fabulous doing it,” Jane said loyally.
“Not unless he has a thing for sweaty and gross girls,” Darcy said, “I want to show off a little. But keep it classy. You know.”
“Classic sex,” Pepper said. “We can do that.”
It turned out she and Natasha really could. Jane and Darcy ended up standing back in awe as they took control of the mission. Natasha was an expert at selecting clothes that would fit the sort of frame Darcy had, and she swiftly selected short-hem dresses with flaring skirts in bright colors. Pepper found the shoes shoes -- comfortable enough, she swore, that Darcy would be able to walk in them, but high enough they elongated Darcy’s short frame.
Two hours later, Darcy stood in front of a mirror, her outfit complete. She let out a low whistle. “Check me out. I’m hot.”
Pepper nodded in complete agreement. “Steve’s jaw is going to hit the floor. Guaranteed.”
“How much is this hotness going to run me?” Darcy reached for the price tags, but Pepper stopped her.
“I’ve got this,” she said quietly but firmly.
“Pepper --”
“Let me do this for you,” she said, smiling. “Tony’s... a terrible boss. I know that. But he’s my person, you know? And I trust him with you. Which is... saying a lot. So let me say thank you.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Darcy asked. “Don’t you make me cry in a Macy’s.”
“Don’t cry,” Pepper said, “just throw all that stuff back on the hangers, let’s go through the check-out and then... margaritas?”
There was not one single objection to that idea.
**
“You know, I believe it’s part of your job description to help me through my hangovers,” Tony said, plopping a glass of something vile and green in front of Darcy’s head. She opened one eye to look at it and groaned.
“Have you ever tried to keep up with Natasha Romanov in a bar? She’s got no mercy at all, man. It’s shot after shot after shot... At one point there was karaoke. And maybe some table dancing? I don’t remember.” Darcy would have shook her head, but moving at all was sort of touch-and-go at the moment, so she settled on waving a hand. “I’m going to vomit again, just thinking about it.”
Tony pointed imperiously at the beverage next to Darcy. “Drink that.”
“What is it? Plant semen?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Plants don’t have semen.” Tony grinned. “It’s chlorophyll, among other things. It’ll flush your system out and help you feel better. There’s some aspirin there, too. Not in the glass. In pill form. Right next to it. Which you would know if you would open your eyes and join the land of the living, Lewis. How did you even get here today?”
“Pepper let me crash on one of the couches.” Darcy groaned and opened one eye, reaching for the pills. “Don’t look now, Tony, but you’re being vaguely sweet about this whole thing.”
Tony shrugged. “I’m inclined to be sweet to you.”
“Aw.”
“I got laid like you would not believe last night.”
“Tony!”
“Just saying. Any time you want to take my girlfriend out for drinks involving tequila --” Tony winked. It was seriously creepy. “-- then you have all-systems-go approval from me.”
“Oh my God, Tony, seriously.” Darcy drained the whole glass of green gunk in a couple of swallows. “Overshare, buddy.”
Tony just laughed, and sort of ruffled her hair as he passed by.
Damn it all, she was really starting to like the bastard.
**
Steve couldn’t get over the fact that he really, really didn’t do stuff like this. He’d known Peggy Carter for months before he could even get up the courage to dance around the idea of maybe spending time together in the distant future.
But, he thought, as he pulled the laces on his boots tight and started to loop them together into a knot, that had been before. Before he realized just how suddenly everything could change. Before he realized that for him, betting on tomorrow was a losing game. He’d always laid his money down on making it through the war. If he’d known he was going to lose everyone and wake up in a strange new world, he might have played the whole experience differently.
He still would have been himself, sure, but maybe he would have gotten up the courage to brush her hair over her ear, so that he could have the memory of what that felt like stored in his brain. He would have drawn her in the sunlight and stuck the picture in his pocket so he would have something other than the picture in her official file to remember her by. He would have taken a turn around the dance floor, damn the Commandos and everyone watching, so he could say that at least he knew what it was like to hold a girl and sway to Glenn Miller.
But he hadn’t, and now he knew, with real certainty, just how quickly he could lose everyone he’d ever loved.
It might, he thought, make some other men run from loving all together, but Steve knew he couldn’t live like that, and as soon as the numbness had started to fade, and the pain had set in, so had the desire for something positive, and something real.
He knew nothing about Darcy Lewis, except that she was beautiful, and witty, and funny. He knew that he couldn’t get the smell of her perfume out of his head or out of his nose. He knew with certainty that he wanted to run his fingers through her hair and find out what it sounded like when a laugh caught her by surprise.
He pushed himself to his feet and swung on his leather jacket, grabbing the spare he’d picked up in a store in Harlem, and left his apartment, locking it behind him.
Here we go, Steve, he thought. Out of the ice. Into the sun.
**
For her part, Darcy was seriously regretting not taking Pepper and Jane up on their offer to help her come over and get ready. (It’s not the fucking prom, guys. Let’s not completely lose our minds). Not that she needed help, precisely. She’d just like a little confirmation that she looked as good as she thought she did, and possibly a little help talking herself out of the near panic attack she felt coming on.
How much did she really know about this guy? Besides what she could Wikipedia, of course, and what little (biased) information Tony had given her, and what she’d read in history books... okay, so she was probably coming into this date a little ahead in the information department, but... what would they talk about? What would he think of a modern, foul-mouthed, sarcastic girl?
Well. Darcy threw her shoulders back. If he didn’t like it, screw him. She wasn’t toning it down for anyone. Not even Captain America.
Her phone buzzed.
Patented Stark advice: Wear red, white and blue underwear.
She quickly picked up the phone. Don’t be gross, Tony.
I’m just saying. Patriotism is like, his schtick. He’s sure to appreciate it.
...I’m suing you for sexual harassment. Like, filing the paperwork, right now.
*kisses* Have a good time on your date with the living popsicle, Lewis.
...Thanks, Tony.
(Don’t get VD! Make him put a rubber on his chubber!)
Darcy laughed long and hard. Tony was a complete (sex-obsessed) bastard, but at least he’d distracted her enough that when Steve knocked, she hadn’t spent the last hour obsessing over every single thing. And for that, she was a little grateful. Not enough to tell him so. But grateful.
She opened the door after checking the peephole (Natasha’s training might have made her more paranoid, if not anymore skillful) and removing the chain. “Hey, Steve,” she said nervously.
“Hello, Darcy... wow.” Steve actually got a little red and swallowed. “You look... really nice.”
Darcy grinned. She’d have to text Pepper later. (Every single penny worth it. Red to his ears. Could he be more adorable?) “Thank you.”
“A, uh... friend told me that you like motorcycles? So I picked up this...” Steve handed her a beautiful brown leather jacket.
“Oh my God.” Darcy squealed, running a hand over its smooth-as-butter texture. “It’s got an eagle on the back of it! An actual freaking eagle.”
Steve bit back a smile. “I didn’t know for sure if you’d like it, but... I brought the bike. If you want to ride, that is. Otherwise we can take the subway.”
“You brought the bike? The bike?”
Steve stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, Tony got ahold of it at a collector’s auction a few years back and he gave it back to me after he finished the restoration once the Loki thing was over.”
Darcy beamed from ear to ear. “How is this even my life?” She started to laugh. “Hold on, Steve, I’m going to go put on my leggings -- motorcycles and bare legs don’t exactly mix. Why don’t you uh -- come on in. Please ignore that I’m a complete and utter slob and try to keep in mind that I work twenty-five hours a day.”
Steve chuckled and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Darcy tried to remember if she’d picked up the pile of bras in the corner, how many dishes littered the coffee table and ultimately ran into her bedroom to yank on leggings under her dress.
“I’m really, really sorry about that,” she said, dashing out of her room. “I know...”
“You should see my place,” Steve said, with a self-deprecating smile. “No one’s coming in to inspect my quarters anymore. It’s really impacted my housekeeping skills. Ready to go?”
Darcy slipped the jacket on. It was a perfect fit. She suspected Steve had gotten some help there, especially since guys tended to “underestimate” how much room her chest would need, and this zipped with ease.
“Lead the way, Steve,” she said, gesturing ahead of her. Steve reached for her hand, and she gave it without hesitation.
**
There was nothing like it. The feel of the motor underneath of him, the open road around them (as open as it got in New York City, at any rate. Someday, he’d have to take her out with him on the open road. The true open road … somewhere with mountains in the distance and fresh, clean air), and Darcy Lewis’s arms around him, her gleeful shouts in his ear when he punched the throttle and weaved in and out of traffic.
He was genuinely sad when the ride was over, and they pulled into a little side-street in Brooklyn. Steve whipped into his usual parking spot and removed his helmet just in time to hear Darcy laughing.
“Oh my fucking God. Steven Rogers, you are a beautiful maniac!”
“Ha! I can honestly say that is the first time anyone’s ever said that to me.”
“I don’t know whether to kiss the ground or ask if you want to spend the whole night riding,” Darcy said, removing her own helmet. “Ugh, don’t look, helmet hair.”
He looked anyway. He never understood the search for perfection. The chorus girls in the show had been like this: constantly touching and retouching, checking mirrors for little flaws only they could see. As far as he was concerned, Darcy was beautiful.
“It looks good,” he risked. “It looks like the wind’s been in it. It makes you look alive.”
Darcy started. “You know, any other guy, I would call BS on, but, there’s something about you...”
Steve shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“Come here.” Darcy was still straddling the bike behind him, so Steve had to twist. She framed his face in her hands. “I usually would wait until the end of the date, but...”
She touched her lips to his, and he instantly tasted cherry and lip gloss and mint and... she was playing with the hair over his ear as they slowly got to know each other, just lips passing over each other over and over and over again...
Darcy finally pulled away. “Wow. Just... okay. Wow.”
Steve flushed. “Uh... agreed.”
“Dinner’s probably a good idea,” Darcy said, swallowing.
“Yeah.” Steve swung himself off the bike and held out a hand to help Darcy off, as well. He held it loosely enough that Darcy could have pulled away if she wanted to. She didn’t.
**
They stayed too long at the restaurant, lingering over red wine and truly fabulous linguine, laughing about the people they knew. Steve told stories about trying to adjust to the modern world, and spoke lightly of his past. Darcy talked about all the crappy jobs she worked in high school and college, and at some point, their hands found each other underneath of the table and stayed loosely linked the whole time.
“We’re going to miss our movie,” Steve said softly, looking at his watch.
Darcy fiddled with her hair, flushing a little. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was Steve, sitting across the table from her, looking too perfect to be real, but with sadness tinging those blue eyes... “Let’s skip it,” she said. “Go crazy, order the cheesecake? And then we can take the long way home?”
Steve smiled. “Sounds... perfect.”
**
Three hours later, Darcy stood in her doorway, perfect outfit a little disheveled, new leather jacket broken in, and cheeks rosy from the bracing air and the red wine.
“I really want to kiss you again,” Steve said. “And I told myself I wasn’t going to miss any shot to be happy, so...”
“If it’ll make you happy, I think you should kiss me whenever you want,” Darcy said... and tried not to wince at how corny that sounded.
Steve laughed, and lowered his head so slowly to hers that she thought maybe he would stop, but he didn’t. His lips hovered over hers for a second and she could feel his breath on her skin and all she was thinking was kissmekissmekissme...
And then he did. Where something of the kiss before had been innocent, if heated, this was... Whew. Darcy found herself pressed up against her door, as his hands cradled the back of her head, burying themselves in her hair like it was the only place they wanted to be, rubbing strands of it between his fingers as he passed his tongue over her lips. It was all she could do not to jump on him and ask him to come inside and....
“We should...” she broke away, panting for breath, “we should really stop.”
Steve lowered his forehead to hers, his breathing not nearly as labored as hers. “I... I know.”
“It’s just that I like you,” Darcy said, unable to stop the words from coming out, “like... a lot. More than I’ve liked anyone... ever. And maybe I would normally do things a little bit differently, if you were just some guy... but you’re not. You’re the first guy I’ve ever dated that I like this much. And it’s not just cause you’re gorgeous. Although, it should be noted, you totally are. You’re funny and you’re smart and you... you’re you. So we should stop. And I should go inside here, and lock my door, and then maybe someday you’ll call me again, and we’ll go out again and...”
“And kiss some more,” Steve said, “and maybe we’ll go for a walk in the park and you can hold my hand in the daylight and then we’ll get hot dogs and I could hear you laugh and... we figure out where to go from there?”
Darcy nodded. “That’s a perfectly good plan.”
“Good.” Steve smiled shyly. “Just... Darcy?”
“What?”
“I like you, too. So... so much.” Steve took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "So.... not 'maybe someday'. How about... tomorrow?"
“Tomorrow sounds... perfect.’